exsilium | voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

voice; forward dated to past midnight (action open to anyone around?)

( there's a slight sound of rustling after the feed clicks on, as oz makes himself more comfortable on a seat in the observatory. why he's there late at night — night by circadian rhythms, anyway, simulated nights on the moon — is anyone's guess, or maybe it's obvious enough. in any case, when he speaks up a moment later, he sounds to be in a good enough mood. )

What's your favorite story? Scary ones are probably best for late at night, but what I really want to hear about are everyone's favorites. For instance, something about a princess and a dragon, or maybe a mystery with a twist ending, or something out of history....ah, if you make it up or adapt it from a book, that's fine too! Or even if it's a real one that's happened to someone you know, ( and a light laugh ) — don't worry, I don't tell anyone!

But it's rude to ask without giving my own preference, right? I can start with mine, if anyone wants.

( he'll tell people about holy knight. all about it!!!! don't ask him about it. )

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( of course it is, and what he flashes to is the maybe maybe maybe, the thing he's wondered about the past month but hasn't had any way of knowing for sure: likely a half-finished experiment on the part of the ue. if it's still —

and there's the matter of the chimera project, of the things he's still yet to tell anyone, of the retaliation that ruined exsilium and how hard he's tried not to think of it that way, of how it's been around a month since all this began and doesn't feel half that long.

talking about things, though, is a long way from his strong suit. )

Even if I had been ( worse lately, he means ) would you really want to know?

( there's a little hesitance creeping in; it's not something he's never heard before, but it's a hard concept to wrap his head around — especially in a case like this. )

I wouldn't pry, if you didn't want to tell me.

[ but that's not really an answer; she knows it, and she knows he'll know it, too; she makes a quiet noise over the line for thought. would she want to know? does she want to know? (after all, she thinks, is it more likely to be a hypothetical, or leading into whether he will, or won't?) saying yes means investment, means concern. means an emotional commitment she isn't sure she possesses, let alone would want to admit. saying no means callousness, means disregard. means denying any chance to learn, any opportunity to connect.

does she really want to know? ]

... It's hard to say. I don't often feel pity, and I'm not much for compassion. My heart alone is burden enough to carry; I don't have the strength to carry anyone else. I wouldn't ask for the sake of making you feel better, or to try solving your problems.

But, I can't deny being curious, either. Even when... even though I can do nothing, I prefer knowing.

So for the sake of your curiosity, you'd prefer to know than to not.

( it could sound judgmental, but if anything there's some quiet amusement to how he says it. even if it's not my business, that doesn't mean it doesn't matter is something he'd said to echo once, and of course he understands feeling unable to truly help someone else, feeling too weak to make a difference. it may not be the same sentiment, but it's not entirely unfamiliar either. it could seem cold, her saying she's asking for curiosity's sake, but the significance to her asking in the first place, in failing to outright say she doesn't care at all, isn't lost on him. )

I haven't been worse.

( easily said and gotten out of the way. but "better" seems — harder to quantify, and the ways he'd think to don't apply as well as he'd like. he could lie, but what's the point? )

I could tell that much, at least.

[ maybe it's the "late" hour that does it, or the darkness... or that they don't have to look at one another's faces that does it, but the barrier between what is true and what is spoken is a much thinner barrier than it would ordinarily be.

and ruka has always been good at putting pieces together. ]

Because you're still at the worst place.

At the worst place?

In your eyes, it is.

That's why you felt it impossible to get worse.

( — oh. there's a surprised exhale at that.

because of course her logic is perfectly sound but that's not a way he would've thought to articulate the sentiment — how he's been feeling — even to himself, and for a second he's almost inclined to balk. haven't there been worse times?

have there?

it's not wholly unfamiliar, the feeling of having been seen through like a pane of clear glass — part of a liar's territory, perhaps — but it feels like the first time in some time it's caught him so off-guard. )

( maybe because this time even he wasn't aware of what he was hiding. )

...I see. I didn't think of that.

( because, as usual, his own self is still the hardest thing for him to parse through and understand. )

[ in that regard, he's in good company. she has an edge on many: the ability to read, to feel hearts, and the experience to spot the patterns and riddles that disguise those hidden from her. but despite how intimately she can empathize with others, the capabilities of her heart alone frequently elude her.

for all her fronts, and for as much as she might otherwise wish, compassion remains. ]

Nobody would want to.

Even if that's the case...

( it seems like running away to not acknowledge even a mindset that seems melodramatic when phrased the way she put it, when there's not a person not having a hard time right now in some way, when someone has to tell him how he's feeling.

(when he's literally run away from his roommates (friends) and the notion of sleep at all tonight.)

there's another exhale, wry this time. )

...how pathetic.

[ he could mean her, or the idea, or himself, with a line like that. it's not the easiest thing to divine.

(if she has to guess, she thinks it's a disparagement of self. if she knows his type, then...)

but it's a lot of ifs, for a person she all but promised to not help. and she did say she wouldn't pry.

so she has to act on that by not acting. she doesn't disconnect the line, but she doesn't answer, either.

whatever happens here is up to him. ]

( in the end, the feed times out. )

( for a few hours, at least, because what do you say to that? though it seems ridiculous to leave a reply so much later, especially unaware if she's even awake to see or not )

— sorry.

Oz?

[ to confirm the identity, though it's obvious who it is by content alone. nobody else really has a reason to be messaging at something like 3am exsilium-enforced-time, after all.

but clock times mean little to insomnia, and even if she sounds tired, she certainly wasn't asleep. ]

No, it's alright. You don't have to apologize to me. I didn't have any right to say something like that.

No, you were right.

( and she was, really, so he can't be angry; it had nothing to do with being affronted or anything of the sort in the first place. )

It was me that didn't know the right thing to say.

Most don't.

[ even if she doesn't say I'm sorry, apology is clear in her tone. ]

It isn't the sort of thing to say so harshly, uninvited, and it isn't for me to do that here.

[ there's a pause, soft. ]

If you're not... mmm, if you're planning to stay up any longer, maybe...

Do you drink coffee or tea?

It's really fine.

( and he means it; it's better to realize that than not, especially since this whole ordeal really is one in which he wants to take responsibility, not something that comes especially easily to him. )

I wasn't planning on sleeping soon. ( who needs sleep, really! and if there's a touch of dryness when he answers it's because he remembers what happened the last time he had adventures in drinking strong coffee. ) And I usually take tea.

I usually don't. Sleep very often, I mean; I used to drink tea all the time back home. [ even if the inherited tea service was a little melancholic to use... ]

Anyway... if you'd like to continue this, I have some I wouldn't mind sharing. I promise, it's genuine.

[ this is somewhere between a bribe and a peace offering. ]

Well, how can I turn down an offer like that?

( the attempt would be more than enough to mollify him if he needed the placating; the fact that she wants to is more than enough. but he'll not turn down tea or company, especially after the past few days (and weeks and month, and it'll be nice when he can stop thinking after the past — ). stories make a fine companion, for insomnia or otherwise, but a real person is always better. )

I'll meet you in the cafeteria, then.

[ the place is quiet enough at this forced hour, and she's easy enough to find, even if tea isn't quite as easy to make as she anticipated.

with no water in the faucets, bottled has to suffice, and finding some way to boil it is a little tricky with these weird coffeemakers.

(rua, she thinks, would have been able to solve this sort of thing in an instant back in the city, but he hasn't been there with her in a very long time, and a thought like that doesn't help her much now, either.)

but her adventures in absconding from the deliberate nature of missions and smuggling her own comforts serves her well enough now: she greatly doubts that a genuine tea set is among the available dishes in the pantry.

and in the end, the endeavor will prove successful, though it's still a work in progress when oz finally arrives. ]

( the last time he met someone over tea in the cafeteria was only a day before, perhaps at around this same time. that had been coincidence rather than the deliberate intent that takes him there now, and haruka is far better company by far already; this isn't especially difficult by virtue of the fact that she's neither covered in horrific amounts of blood nor possibly a serial killer. the jury's still out on that one.

since he's come directly from the observatory, he still has his tablet in hand — closed — to be put away later, and it's with some subtle relief that he approaches her. he'd gone for a distinct lack of places to go in the base, but it's still his least favorite room. )

Do you need help with that?

( the machine, he means; a few days using it in the ue was plenty long enough for him to become well-acquainted with making tea in it. )

[ (her roommate is pretty weird, there is never any doubt about that.)

the sound of a voice, regardless of familiarity, has her turning with a speed and sharpness of movement that betrays her. her bad side is kept to the counter, her good facing oz.

it's a couple seconds before she answers, averting her intense gaze — before her shoulders relax, ever so slightly, and she ceases looking like startled prey, sizing up its predator for counterattack. ]

... Yeah, I'm still not used to these. [ she gestures, almost lazy; trying to mask her prior surprise. ] I only need to heat up water, not make that... whatever it is they're calling coffee.

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